


Watched

by Silverilly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Comfort, Coping, F/F, Panic Attacks, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 23:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13774527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverilly/pseuds/Silverilly
Summary: Hermione Granger was being watched—again—by Astoria Greengrass—again.





	Watched

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honeymink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymink/gifts).



She was being watched.

In her fourth year, Hermione remembered the annoyance that bubbled inside her as she tried desperately to find solace in the library, only to discover that Viktor Krum was there yet again. It had taken her an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize _why_ he seemed to be following her. She wasn’t about to make that mistake again; now that she was older, she knew when to look for patterns.

She was being watched—again—by Astoria Greengrass—again.

Hermione had become increasingly aware of the Slytherin during her first few weeks back at Hogwarts. Previously, she hadn’t given the girl a second thought—she vaguely remembered a sister, who had been in Hermione’s year—but now, things were different. Perhaps it was because of this year’s new inter-communal projects, which delineated house separatism such as divided tables for eating. It had not gone unnoticed when Astoria had spoken up against another Slytherin, who had been loudly complaining about this year’s “fairy” classes—evidently, he missed the torture taught by actual Death Eaters. Astoria had charmed his mashed potatoes to stick to his shabby mustache for three days.

Hermione had noticed this, and she had also noticed Astoria’s perfectly inquisitive eyes.

As far as Hermione knew, Astoria hadn’t spent nearly this amount of time in the library during her early years at Hogwarts. Admittedly, Hermione hadn’t been _looking_ for her, but the library was her home; surely, she would have noticed such a frequent visitor. If that was the case, then maybe Astoria was here for more than information—or maybe she was seeking information about something beyond magic. As Hermione’s gaze flicked over to Astoria once more, she wondered why that thought made her heartbeat quicken.

In the next glance, their eyes met, and Hermione knew she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Hello…” she said softly. It seemed a bit uninspired, but what else was she supposed to say in this sort of a situation?

Fortunately, Astoria’s lips spread into a smile, accenting the sharpness of her cheekbones. “Caught me at last.” Her voice was smooth as butter.

“ _Caught_ you?”

Hermione felt her blood rush to her face, and suddenly she became aware of her uneven breathing—but it wasn’t from flattery, not anymore. Now a different kind of fear touched her thoughts. What if this was all a plot? There were so many people who still believed that Voldemort’s way was the right way, that the darkest year of her life had been exactly how the world should be—what if Astoria was one of them? Sure, she’d snapped at some rude Slytherin, but what if that had all been staged to lure Hermione into some kind of trap? The mudblood friend of Harry Potter—she was as endangered as she was famous, now. Why wouldn’t someone—a _Slytherin_ —take advantage of that? How could she have been so _stupid_?

Before she could stop them, images of the war flashed through her mind. There were bodies, so many bodies; her brain found a memory of a lifeless Colin Creevey, sprawled out as if sleeping, but never to wake again. Her arm, hopelessly scarred from Bellatrix Lestrange’s assault, twinged with pain, accelerating her breath until she thought she might choke, she must suffocate now under the weight of all these thoughts, all these memories, and whenever she thought it was over it never seemed to be over—

“Granger!”

The voice barely broke through the cacophony in her head, but it _did_ break through. The voice—Astoria’s voice, matched to eyes now wide with concern—cut across it all.

“Merlin’s beard, Granger, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a dementor, or…” Something changed in Astoria’s eyes, though Hermione was too panicked to understand what it was. “Oh. Okay, listen, are you hearing me? Nod if you are.”

Unable to do anything else, Hermione nodded.

“Good. Now, breathe with me. In for seven counts, out for eleven. One, two, three, four…” Between counts, Astoria inhaled, squeezing Hermione’s hand—when had she grabbed her hand?—and willing her to follow. Over the static of her brain, Hermione followed. Inhale for seven counts. Exhale for eleven. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

As her breath overcame her thoughts, her heartbeat slowed, and she became aware of where she was. She was here, in the library, in the safest place in the world, with her hand in Astoria Greengrass’s hand.

Unfortunately, Astoria released her grasp as soon as it was under Hermione’s gaze. “Sorry! I just thought… for grounding…”

Hermione blinked at her now-empty palm. Already, she was missing Astoria’s fingers. “It’s… it’s fine. Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do.” Astoria’s eyes, rather than staring at her, were now trained on—apparently—nothing. “I didn’t mean to… well, I only wanted to say… you’re…” When she lifted her gaze, it hit hard. Hermione suddenly realized how close they had gotten; Astoria’s mouth was mere centimetres from her own. Her breath was warm, soft against Hermione's dry lips, charged with... something. Something electric. "Um, you're..." Hermione's arms mottled with gooseflesh—and yet, somehow, she felt safe.

“So are you,” she whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Astoria before! This did really bring me back, though, to the days of writing totally minor Harry Potter characters; I actually used to write Daphne quite a bit. Those were the days...
> 
> Hopefully the focus on anxiety is all right. Tomorrow's doesn't (beyond common nervousness), but I was thinking a bit about what kind of challenges Hermione would face in her seventh year, and this image popped into my head out of nowhere. Good thing she has a new... friend.


End file.
